Star and Dust

She stood tall and proud, an heiress of uncounted riches
Bred to perfection, overly confident and well kept.
She walks like the queen that she is
As if everything bows down to her passing.
She acts as if the world was made for her,
Gears grinding in her every whim,
The world, bending to her favor.

He has his shoulders hunched, humbled by the weather
Calloused hands and torn out shoes,
Hair in disarray, a reflection of his disposition.
Doubt shadows his every move, uncertainty in his soul.
He walks like he carries the world,
And paves the road for someone great to pass.
He is oblivious of the existence of equality
For he was raised at the bottom
And he never knew there was a top.

She is the epitome of an empowered individual,
Conquering the world, commanding the storms
And engineering the paths.

He is the reflection of a broken soul, spineless,
Conquered before he was born, bows down to all things passing,
He is more familiar with the image of his toes
Than that of the world around him.

She stands tall,
He cowers.
She speaks in thunderstorms,
He shouts in whispers.
She leads,
He tails.
She commands,
He follows.
She is a force to be reckoned,
He is negligible.
While she is necessary and essential,
He is worthless.
As she conquers,
He surrenders.

What a sight it is, I tell you,
To see such extreme of a spectrum
Fit each other like a glove
As if those born in the stars
And born in the dust
Were, after all this time,
Meant to be the oddest,
Unlikely but sensible pair.


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